


Nothing Here

by Bookshido



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Out of Their Time, Gen, Original Character-centric, Seventeenth Century Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookshido/pseuds/Bookshido
Summary: Dean decides to confront Agnes about one of her weird habits.





	Nothing Here

“Agnes, we’re back,” Dean called as he and Sam hurried down the bunker stairs to the main floor.

No one responded and Dean looked helplessly at Sam for him to say something of reassurance.

“Maybe she went to bed?” Sam offered, sensing his brother’s rising panic. “She’s been staying up past two in the morning the past two nights and it’s about two now.”

“I’ll go check on her,” Dean decided, walking off to the residential section of the shared bunker.

Dean gently knocked on her door and waited for her call for him to ‘Com’st inside’ before he opened the door. She was clutching two pieces of bright red fabric that stood out sharply from the rest of her clothing, all of which was in shades of grey and white. She was wearing the same clothes she had arrived in, the bag of modern women’s clothing still untouched by the door.

“Agnes?” he asked, pushing the door open all the way. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I’ve been busy,” she replied softly, eyes still glued to the small pieces of fabric she was currently sewing together.

“Whatcha working on?” Dean asked, trying to be cordial.

“My sewing,” she replied, still not looking up. “As I have told you both nights before this.”

“And it took you this long?” Dean asked in bewilderment.

“Good sewing takes time,” she stated, as if she had said the words a thousand times over.

“So you’ve been doing this for the past three days?” Dean asked in astonishment this time.

With a sigh, Agnes placed the sewing on her bed before she spoke.

“I am trapped in this underground cavern home for’st mine own safety,” she stated, setting her hands down in her lap. “You and your brother have yet to discover why I hast been brought here. I do believe it be for a purpose most foul.”

Dean nodded in agreement.

“Castiel brought me fabrics from a local trader so that I may keep my hands busy while I have nothing else to do,” she explained, gesturing to the six bolts of fabric that sat on the unused dresser.

“So what have you been working on?” Dean asked.

“A rag doll,” the girl said with a shrug.

“No offense, but there aren’t any kids that should be anywhere near us,” Dean told her, crossing his arms. “What’s it for?”

“My dowry,” Agnes said, making eye contact with him.

“Your dowry,” Dean repeated.

“For when I find a suitor that will be suitable for me to be joined in marriage to,” she said, picking up her sewing once more.

“How can you find a ‘suitor’ when you can’t even leave the bunker?” Dean joked, cracking a grin.

She glared him, making the grin quickly fall.

“There is no possible way that you could understand my pain,” Agnes stated, eyes going back to her work. “I have been taken from my home, family, fiance, and culture. And then… then dumped here, like a sack of flour.”

Dean swallowed, waiting for her to keep going.

“I am surrounded by unfamiliar sights and beings,” she continued, ending the line of stitches. “I do not recognize anything around me. I do not even recognize some of the most basic things in this world. Such as the food and even the water. I do not have anything that can remind me of home. And it seems that I will never be able to achieve my own personal dreams if I am kept here in this… bunker, I think that is the word.”

“It is,” Dean assured her, leaning on the desk.

“There be’est nothing else for me here,” she said, flipping the fabric inside out. “My needlework is all I have left.”

With that, she smoothed out the red fabric, revealing that she had just sewn a small skirt.

“Good night, Dean,” Agnes said, setting the skirt with the other scraps of cloth and stood.

She brushed off her skirts and showed him to the door, making eye contact with him as he passed. Dean stepped outside and watched her shut the door. As the door clicked shut, Dean could hear a small sob escape the woman, the first tears he had ever seen her allow to fall since she had arrived.


End file.
